A Pillar by Day, A Fire by Night
by warblerwings
Summary: Dean wins a contest he didn't want to enter and is awarded a prize he'd never imagined.
1. Chapter 1

Dean was never sure if it was better to go out and get trashed around fans or around non-fans. If no one recognized him, there was a lot less bullshit - but he also had to pay for his own drinks. The place seemed like it was split between the two tonight, a cheap night out, but not a free one. He was kind of disappointed when the group of guys he'd fallen in with decided to call it an early night. _Really_ early.

He saw a look pass among them before one of them said they were going somewhere else, and it might be his kind of place. Did he want to follow them out there? He wasn't even close to drunk enough to get in a car with a bunch of dudes and just go someplace. But following them was another thing.

He was pretty sure it was a mistake when they pulled into the parking lot of what had to be the lord and king of seedy motels: concrete-block, single-story, u-shaped, and ugly as a wart on a water buffalo's ass. But it wouldn't be the first time someone commandeered a place like this for a party house, would it?

More red lights went on when there was no check-in, no desk clerk, and apparently no one alive at all in the office. A block of seven rooms at the back of the U were the only ones with lights on. Weeds in the parking lot and peeling paint were par for places like this, but there was a lot of both. This place hadn't been in anything like normal business in a long time.

Curiosity won out; it was the story of most of the shit he'd gotten into in his life. One of the guys used a key to get into one of the lit-up rooms. What Dean saw only made him more curious.

The seven rooms had been made into one long room by smashing out the walls between them. There were about 30 people milling around. No music, very little booze. And no women.

_Man, I think somebody made a BIG mistake about my kind of thing._ As he looked further down the length of the room, he saw he'd been wrong about one thing: There were women. Four of them. All naked and in cages.

_What the actual fuck is this?_ Two of the women were clearly courting the men's attention - dancing, posing, pressing up against the bars of their cages for some very personal touching. A third was just standing there allowing herself to be ogled. The fourth, the furthest down the row, was huddled against the back of the cage where it was pushed against a wall; she looked like she was crying. It wasn't stopping anyone from checking her out.

"Uh, am I supposed to understand this?"

One of the guys who'd brought him grinned in a suddenly unfriendly way. "Not yet. But you will. So you noticed the chicks, I guess?"

"It's hard not to."

"They're prizes."

Dean's brain insisted on sending him an image of being handed a raffle ticket, then tried to shut down. "Prizes for what?"

"Pit fights. Oughta be right up your street, right?"

It was the first sign any of them had given that they recognized him. "I can get my own naked chicks."

"Yeah, but can you get one who'll do anything you want her to do, _anything_, for a year?"

"And they signed right up for that, right?"

"Actually, yeah, they did. Offer a hooker three hots and a cot and not having to work the streets for a year, all she has to do is fuck on demand, and most of them jump."

"That one on the end doesn't look too froggy."

"Yeah, she might have been a mistake. It happens." The guy shrugged. "Mistakes are usually pretty popular."

"No, man, this isn't for me. I'll see you around."

The guy nodded toward the door. "It doesn't work that way."

Two guys had appeared by the door they'd come in, sometime after. They were both beasts, and both well-armed.

_Great._ "So I'm in, whether I'm in or not."

"Yeah." The guy handed him what looked like a poker chip. "Write this down on the sheet by whichever one you think would be the best fuck. Just a tip: The mistake has a little more fight in her than she looks like right now. She'd be a hell of a ride." He walked away.

Dean glanced down at the chip. It had the number 42 scratched deeply into it.

He skipped the first three cages. Maybe he could salvage something from this steaming pile of shit he'd managed to step in.

The girl in the fourth cage _was_ crying, softly and tonelessly. There were seven numbers written down on the sheet taped to the front. He made it eight. "Hey. Hey in there, can you hear me?"

She glanced up, then back down immediately.

"What's your name?"

She looked up longer this time, with an expression that strongly suggested she thought he was insane.

_Haven't been asked that tonight, have you?_ "Come on, tell me. I'm going to get you the fuck out of here."

He didn't expect gratitude, or even belief. Why would she? But he expected _something_. What he got was nothing, a perfectly empty gaze. He realized then that on top of everything else, she was drugged all to hell and back.

"That's all right. You can tell me when we're 500 miles the fuck away from here." Her name first, then where she lived, so he could get her the hell back to wherever it was.

They explained the rules of the tournament right before it got started. It didn't take long; there weren't many. Four separate brackets, one for each woman. Random draws, single elimination, winners advance to the next draw. It would be really good to be drawn last. He believed the draws would be random about as much as he believed in elves. The money in this obviously came from betting; there was a lot of it going on. They'd be rigging the draws to get the most money out of them. No shirts, no shoes, no weapons - which was no doubt why no shirts or shoes. Loser was whoever got knocked down and couldn't get his ass up off the floor in 15 seconds.

He was surprised not to be drawn first...and a lot less surprised to be drawn second. He had a long night ahead of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean didn't know what the guy he was staring down was expecting tonight, but he thought he probably wasn't it. That was fine with him. The faster each fight was over, the better. He had every intention of going the duration, but if it all amounted to a short duration, that was fine, too.

_He's scared enough to piss himself. Scare him worse._ He wasn't sure what Roman was doing in his brain right now - coaching, apparently - but it sounded like a plan. When someone shouted for the fight to start, Dean let out the loudest scream he could and charged across the space. He thought the guy just stopped himself from turning and running.

_Shoulda done it while you had the chance, asshole._ He threw his entire weight into the guy and they hit the floor hard. It knocked the breath out of the guy, which was just about perfect. Dean locked his hands around the guy's throat and decided to really give him something to not breathe about. Half a dozen knees to the groin worked. When he got up so they'd start counting, he was looking down at a face the color of a plum. He was still trying to suck wind when they got to 15.

They sent him back to where he'd started; there would be two minutes before they drew the next one.

Dean knew it wouldn't work again. It had depended mostly on surprise, and no one in the room was going to be surprised by it a second time. It had bought him something important for early on, though: a quick win without a lot of energy wasted.

If he'd needed any verification that the next guy wasn't going to be caught out that way, the wary look he kept fixed on Dean as they waited for the start call would have done it. This called for different tactics. The guy was taller and heavier than the first one, but the weight looked a lot more like beer than bench-presses. Dean still had height on him, and healthy weight, too. And most of all, reach. Another idea sprang into place fully-formed.

He didn't charge; he didn't scream. He didn't even approach his opponent. Instead, they circled, and Dean let the other guy be the one to lose patience and come in closer. He did it cautiously in spite of being baited, but that wasn't a big deal. Closer was what he needed, not necessarily closer in a hurry. Closer, and just one punch thrown, the bigger and more haymakery, the better.

He got just what he needed. Dean snapped his hand up and caught the guy's fist - the one moment he had to absolutely depend on being stronger - then wrenched it back at the wrist as hard as he could. There was a satisfying cracking sound, and the guy went to both knees, howling.

"If I get the other one, I'll break that, too, you piece of shit." He gave him a swift kick in the nuts for good measure; the guy toppled over, and the count started.

The guy didn't even try to get up before 15. Dean noticed some laughter around the room now, and a lot more betting. His odds had just gotten a _lot_ better by dispatching two guys that quickly; he wasn't even winded, and a quarter of the competitors were gone.

The next one wasn't going to be so easy, and didn't look like he was going to be tricked, either. Dean thought the time had come: He was going to have to actually fight. The guy looked like a fairly even match on height and reach, but Dean still had weight on him; he would on just about anyone in the room, as long as neither of the door guards had signed up.

_So use what you know you have on him. Who says you have to punch it out?_ Brain-Roman was back. And he was right again, too. When the start-call came, Dean went in and threw a punch, intentionally wide. He had to actually hope this guy was fairly competent, at least enough to take advantage of what looked like a huge mistake.

He was. He took a swing under Dean's open guard. Dean ducked, and when the punch went over his head, he popped back up inside his opponent's guard and dropped him with what he was sure was the quickest DDT he'd ever popped off. On a bare floor, it made a satisfying, if weirdly hollow, _thunk_. It also knocked the asshole cold. He wouldn't have gotten up by 215; Dean let him have a kick too, before three big guys carried him out.

Dean glanced over to the cage the girl was in, wondering if she was happy about this, scared the fuck out of her mind, or still that blank pool of water he'd looked into. They'd pulled blackout curtains around the cage. Better entertainment if whoever was going to rape her was a complete surprise, he guessed. And he was going to have to think about what to do about that, too, wasn't he? But not right now. He didn't want to do that, but he sure as hell didn't want anyone else to do it, either. They'd probably enjoy it. He thought given the circumstances it was daydreaming to imagine anyone other than him had good intentions here.

The next guy was fairly average looking, but something in his stance as he waited for the fight to start set off alarms. _Martial arts. Judo, maybe._ He didn't need brain-Roman to tell him that one - or that luck _or_ bullshit wouldn't do the trick this time. But he thought he knew what might, if he had the right martial art picked out.

Not grappling the guy, first off. If he was even a little bit skilled, that would be a quick and painful way to lose. But he knew a couple of guys who took Judo, and they had the same complaint: It was too rulebound. All right, then: What was illegal in Judo?

When the start-call came, he got going with the obvious: He stuck his thumbs in the guy's eyes. He twisted away before any real damage got done - a pretty good sign he knew what he was doing, since that cost him some pain - but Dean was satisfied he'd at least partially screwed up the guy's vision, and caused him some misery besides.

Blurry and miserable though he might have been, the guy still came for him with murderous intent. A conversation over beers one night was busily replaying in Dean's head.

_You want a really good example? How about this: A front bearhug is illegal...but a side or back one isn't._

Dean met the guy halfway and locked a bearhug on. He didn't instantly go down in quivering defeat, and Dean wasn't expecting him to, but it bought time while the guy adjusted his escape techniques to something that was never done to him. Dean used it to listen some more.

_It's legal to choke your opponent with his own jacket...but not with yours._

Not much help there, given they were both shirtless, but Dean thought it was probably a push; it took away a lot of what the guy might normally have been doing to him.

_99% of the stuff you do is beyond illegal._ And then he'd given an example, hadn't he? The only problem was, he hadn't heard anything in the rule recital about submissions. He'd have to apply it to injure, assuming he could lock it on at all. He'd almost certainly have to take a couple of shots to get in where he needed to be.

He did, so he just gritted his teeth and took them. And vowed to buy Bob Backlund a beer if he ever saw him again. Or a glass of milk, whatever he was into.

_You can legally shred someone's elbow like a document. A chicken-wing is illegal because it attacks the shoulder._

And cross-faced, it let him crank both directions at once. The bastard was tough, he'd give him that; he held out for over a minute, and he didn't start screaming until well into the second minute. They didn't accept his submission when he shrieked it, though.

"Sorry, dude. Thought they would." He wrenched both directions as hard as he could. He felt something tear. When he got up, the other guy didn't. He wouldn't have kicked this one's nuts up around his neck, but it occurred to him suddenly that it was a good idea for reasons that didn't even have to do with why he'd done it to the others. _Sorry again, man._

It was a win, and valuable information. Submission holds were useful, but only in a limited way. Anything that cost him a lot of energy to lock on or maintain was a bad idea. He'd dismissed four opponents in about 20 minutes, but the last one had taken some out of him. The betting was still brisk, but he could see the looks he was getting that said most of them didn't think he could take out three more. He didn't mind being the only one who believed in him. It wasn't like this would be the first time.


	3. Chapter 3

Two minutes wasn't a lot of time. Dean got up, willing himself to look a lot more enthusiastic about this than he felt. _Little help? Somebody? I can take two maybe, but three...I don't know._

His fifth opponent was a more average-looking guy, and thankfully didn't move like any kind of martial artist Dean had ever seen. He kept going into a weird half-crouch every time Dean got near him. It took him a few minutes to figure it out; once he did, it was all he could do not to double over laughing. The poor son of a bitch was terrified of getting kicked in the nuts. _Be damned, it's actually gonna pay off._ After that, it was easy: Fake a kick, throw a punch. The dumbass was still trying to cover his gear, and he actually bent _into_ the punch; it connected squarely to his temple, and he went down like he was shot. All Dean could do was wonder who the somebody out there was who heard him. Maybe the betting crew didn't know it, but he did: He was going to win this. He could feel it in every fiber.

The next one looked pretty average again, but Dean wasn't fooled. The guy looked kind of skinny, but it was _hard_ skinny - all muscle. He also had a bandaid stuck over the webbing between his thumb and index finger, which pretty much screamed PRISON TATTOO UNDER HERE. If the guy wanted a crew like this not to know something, Dean figured it was probably time done for a murder - not out of shame, but out of hope of an opponent not figuring it out until it was too late.

Hard skinny usually meant stronger than appearances would have it. Dean knew he was in a real fight this time, and right away. The guy had skills, too; he was sticking to body blows, and they were starting to take their toll. He was going to have to do something to turn it around, and fast. He closed to at least shorten the blows and started working on tying up the bastard's arms.

He got the right arm, and the guy swung the left in a short blow to his ribs. He felt it skate over him and thought that was all right until he felt the burning. He glanced down long enough to be sure; he was cut, it looked pretty bad, and the guy was trying to get his knife back into hiding wherever he'd gotten it from. Dean stepped back in a hurry, not sure that a violation of what few rules there were would even matter, but wanting to be sure someone saw it.

They saw, and it mattered. Someone called the fight, and four guys hauled Knife Boy away. Dean grabbed his shirt and jammed it against his side; he figured that rules or no rules, he had two minutes to try to stop the bleeding. He couldn't figure out why the idiot would do it; it took him right out of contention. Then he got a look at his last opponent standing there waiting his turn...and grinning enormously.

_Oh. Six made some cash tonight, it looks like. Shit._

He had exactly the two minutes he was expecting once Knife Boy was gone. It wasn't enough to do anything meaningful about the bleeding, and no one offered anything to patch it up with. He didn't think that would matter much, anyway. The guy would go right for the bandaging and tear it off if he had any brains.

He spent the first five minutes of the fight enjoying the great pleasure of being repeatedly punched in the cut; it was in a spot that made it damn near impossible to defend. Six had earned his cash, all right. Dean gave up on defense; it was useless, and he needed to take this guy out before blood loss got to be a serious problem, or the asshole was going to be able to just stand there over his passed-out carcass for the 15.

The bleeding did one thing in his favor; the guy was having a hell of a time getting and keeping a grip on him, and every time he missed one, it gave Dean a pretty good shot to just punch him straight in the face. Even after half a dozen good ones, the guy was staggered, but nowhere near going down. This one would have been a problem even without the wound; he was plain and simple tough.

The fight went long, too long. Dean could feel lightheadedness starting to set in, and his punches were getting a lot more lame. Desperation or dizziness, he wasn't sure, but something pushed the idea to the surface, in brain-Roman's voice again. _Time to go Full Rasslin' on this asshole. While you still can._

It was going to have to be big, and it was going to have to be _now_; his tank was almost empty. He had no idea what, though; he sure as hell wasn't going to be able to hit the guy in any way that mattered any more. He was going to have to make sure the bastard hit something else, and hard.

The walls were too far away, even though there didn't seem to be an out-of-bounds. While he was looking, he spotted the table where everyone seemed to have set what few drinks were being consumed. It must have been BYOB, too; there were more bottles than glasses.

It took him a couple of minutes to work the guy that direction. He knew he had to be careful about it; if he caught on, this was over. It was probably over anyway - Dean really doubted he could lift the guy at this point - but he didn't have anything else. _Well, all right, then. All in._

He got him up; he more fell down and dropped the guy onto the table than drove him into it, but it was enough. The table didn't break, but bottles and glasses flew, exploding all over the floor. The table went over, and they both went into a shitload of broken glass.

Dean didn't remember getting up, but he must have; he was standing when they hit 15. Asshole wasn't. It was over.

_She's gonna have to drive us out of here. I'll be lucky if she doesn't find something to kill me with. Or push me out and run me over. And I'll just lay there and grin up at her like a moron while she's doing it._

He managed not to fall down when they brought him over to the cage and unlocked it. Getting in took most of what was left in him; the three steps up to the door felt like 300 miles.

The girl was huddled against the back of the cage, arms wrapped around herself as if it would help somehow. He got as close to her as he thought he could without driving her right into a breakdown. "Hey. It's me. I won. We're getting the fuck out of here."

She looked up. Eyes that were just as blank as they'd been before suddenly went shimmery and too bright. She was still naked, and he was a mess, but the hell with it; he pulled her against him and wrapped her up tight. Her skin was cold under his hands even though it was hot as hell in here. Not good.

"It's all right, it's all right; I'm gonna get you out of here now."

He couldn't figure out why she'd shake her head, but it was beyond any doubt what he felt against his shoulder.

He managed to get them both out of the damn cage, but by the time he did, she was holding him up as much as he was for her. The next round of fights had already started, but there was someone waiting out there for them. Of course. "Where are her clothes? We're out of here."

"Not yet. You have to stay the night. There are things we need to discuss in the morning."

"Let's discuss them now."

"You're not in any shape to. Follow me. Unless you want to spend the night back in there."

The room was on one of the arms of the U. A five-star hotel it wasn't, but it looked half-ass clean, at least. Sheets on the bed, the water worked, a pile of convenience-store food on the table.

"If you get any ideas, don't forget we have her clothes. And your keys. Enjoy."

He thought about wrapping the girl up in a sheet and walking out. But she didn't have any shoes, and it was a hell of a long way back to anywhere. He didn't really think he'd make it much more than 500 yards, anyway. They were stuck for the night.

She had at least part of the same idea; she yanked the sheet off the bed and started to wrap herself up in it. She stopped halfway through and looked at him. It took him a few seconds to realize why.

"Shit yeah, go ahead. You don't have to ask me that." But she had no way of knowing that, did she? He already knew one thing they'd be doing with the rest of the night, if he could stay vertical for that long.

"You're bleeding."

He looked down, then up at her again - It was the first thing she'd said to him - then back down. "Shit. I thought I stopped it." He started to go see what was in the bathroom to help. He wasn't expecting much.

"Sit down. Let me." She got up and went in the bathroom, walking slowly but mostly steadily. She came back with a first aid kit that looked like it was for a car or to put away in a bathroom exactly as it had been.

He reached for the kit. She shook her head. "It's easier for me to reach."

She worked slowly, seeming to will her hands to do as she wanted. She was gentle about it, but thorough; the cut needed cleaning, even more than the bleeding needed to be stopped. It wasn't pleasant, but he wasn't going to bitch about what had to be done. Still, he was almost limp with exhaustion when she finished wrapping the wound, which she'd closed with what amounted to homemade butterfly bandages. She'd been playing with scissors for the past five minutes and he'd hardly noticed; apparently she wasn't going to take that way out.

"Thanks." He caught her gaze and tapped the scissors, which she'd returned to their place in the kit. "For that, too."

"I think you'd take a lot more killing than _those_ little things can deliver."

He laughed. It hurt, but it felt good in another way entirely. "Probably so." He reached up to try to rake his hair back into something a little less _Young Frankenstein_.

She grabbed his wrist. "Don't. It's full of glass." She used her grip on his wrist to gently pull him into the bathroom. She looked around, the processors fired again - a little more quickly this time, he thought - and she went back and dragged a chair in and put it in front of the sink, turned backwards. He sat straddling it, not quite sure what the plan was here.

She rooted around in the cabinet and finally came up with a small plastic comb. "Lean back."

He did. He could hear bits of glass plinking into the sink as she started working. It felt pretty good, actually. He closed his eyes. "Are you ever going tell me your name?"

"Tess. What about yours?"

_Well shit, that might have helped._ "Nope, mine's not Tess." He opened his eyes long enough to smile at her. "Dean."

She went on working in silence for a while; he damn near fell asleep.

"There. You should be able to wash the powdery stuff out without slicing your hands up now. I should have waited to bandage you until you took a shower."

"I don't think I could stand up for that long, honestly."

"Let me get the glass off your back, at least." She ran a washcloth under the faucet, then carefully wiped away glass and blood. There was a mess of both. She considered for a moment, then cleaned up the rest of his upper body as best she could around the bandages. That felt even better than the work she'd done on his hair; he was almost asleep when she was done.

He lurched to the bed and barely managed to keep from falling on it. She tucked herself into the chair and made herself as small as possible.

"Even if I was planning to, I couldn't. Come lay down."

She hesitated, but she did it.

"We should talk."

She shook her head. "You need sleep more. And you'll have different things to say tomorrow, I think."

He fell asleep wondering exactly what that meant.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean woke to the sound of knocking on the door that was quickly turning into insistent pounding.

_The hell? It locks from the outside._ He'd checked one of the half-dozen times he'd woke up during the night.

Tess was already awake; he had no idea for how long. She was huddled up in the corner of the bed as far from the door as she could get.

"Don't worry. No one's going to hurt you."

Her laugh was the sound of someone teetering on the edge. There wasn't much to be done about that now, though. He raised his voice enough to be heard through the door. "Yeah? You've got the damn key, don't you?"

There were the usual clicks, and the door opened. "I didn't want to interrupt if you were...waking her." It was the same man who'd shown them in here last night. "But I see not. It might have been more convenient for us all, but..." He shrugged elaborately, then leered at Tess. "You didn't tell him, I suppose?"

She just glared from her huddle.

"I thought not."

"Tell me what?"

"Let's go outside." The leer was back. "I'm sure her memory doesn't need refreshing."

They stood in the hallway; it was as outside as _outside_ was going to get, apparently. Dean had a feeling he didn't want to hear any of what was about to come. "All right, what's the deal?"

"Things you need to understand before you leave here with your prize. And one more thing you need to do."

_Great._ "All right, let's have it."

"I get feelings about our fighters sometimes. And I have the feeling you're having heroic urges. Are you? Is that what you're having?"

Dean just stared until the man shrugged at him. "All right, then. I'll just have to assume you are. We'll just say you're thinking about turning that girl loose when you leave here. Or maybe you're _really_ a hero and she gets a ride to the airport and a plane ticket? Doesn't matter either way. She's yours for a year, and the only way you get rid of her is giving her back to us." The guy pulled a card out of his pocket and held it out until Dean took it. There was a phone number written on it.

"You get tired of her, you call that number, and someone will come get her."

"What happens to her then? Back on the block?"

"No. Rejects become community property." He smiled as unpleasantly as humanly possible. "Most of them don't survive a year of that."

_When hell freezes over._ "And what's to stop me from sending her back where she came from? Or on a year vacation to Brazil or something?"

"Nothing. Yet. You're going to provide your own motivation in a few minutes. First things first, though. She's different from the usual. She was sold to us, so she has no agreement with us. The major thing that agreement does is make certain the woman is free to go in a year. If you want to keep this one after that, it's up to you, but you're on your own."

"Your buddy said it was an accident she's here."

"_She_ probably feels like it is, doesn't she? No, it was entirely intentional. Did you fuck her yet?"

Dean met his gaze squarely. "Yeah, this morning. She was pretty good, too, once she stopped fighting it."

The man gave him a dubious look. "Fine. Then you won't mind doing it again now, will you?"

"Maybe, maybe not. You that into hearing a woman beg for it from another man?"

The man held up a small video camera. "No, but I said you're going to provide your motivation. Even if you can convince anybody you didn't rape that girl on camera, how's a sex video going to go over with your employers?"

_Bastards._ "And that's _my_ choke chain for the next year."

"One year from today you get the video back, and what you do with her after that is up to you. If you don't wreck her too bad, you might even be able to sell her back to us."

_Yeah, and absolutely NO copies of that video will get made. None at all._ "What happens if I don't?"

"Then you're rejecting her. You already know what happens then. Just fuck her, hero. You don't have to do it again for a year if you don't want to, but you've got to do it now if you want to walk out of here with her."

There really wasn't another way out, not for her, anyway. And he had to wonder what they'd do for an alternative method of keeping him quiet, too. "All right, let's go get you your jollies so we can get the fuck out of here." He was thinking the best thing would be not having to look at this bastard again.

The worst thing was the fear back in Tess's eyes when she looked at him. He went to her and sat next to her, keeping his hands carefully back. "You knew. That's why you've been giving me all the strange looks."

She nodded. "They told me."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't give me back to them. _Please._"

"No. No, I won't do that, I promise. I'll...uh, I'll make this as quick as I can."

He swore that for just a second there was a smile teasing at the edges of her mouth. "Make it good instead. _That'll_ piss him off."

"Yeah. There's just one thing..."

This time she absolutely _was_ smiling. "If I don't want to, it gets ugly. If you don't want to, it doesn't happen at all."

"Ah, yeah."

She was _still_ smiling. Jerkoff over in the corner with his camera looked pissed about it, too.

"You _do_ realize you're a long way from the worst thing that could have happened to me last night, right? A _really_ long way."

All he could do was stare as she slid off the bed and onto her knees in front of him.

She was hesitant, but when all he did was watch, she let her hands roam over his legs, exploring. There was a kind of studious expression on her face that under any other circumstances he could imagine would have had him peeling the damn sheet off her right now.

It didn't take her long to move on to getting the problem in hand. Literally. Dean just closed his eyes and let it all happen. Her touch was as gentle on him as it had been last night as she'd bandaged the knife wound, but intent was everything, and this couldn't be more different. Eyes still closed, he couldn't see her bending to lick him; he could only feel her tongue flicking on the head of his cock. He didn't know a damn thing about hummingbirds, but for some reason that was what he thought of.

And still he didn't think it was going to happen. The son of a bitch with the camera kept intruding on it, even though Dean wasn't looking at him. So did the thought that she didn't really want to do this, as good as she was at it. And damn, she _was_ good. He had to open his eyes, he had to look, when she went from teasing with her tongue and taking the head into her mouth to suddenly swallowing him in one gulp.

What he saw when he looked down at her forcefully rearranged his thoughts. The eyes that met his didn't belong to an unhappy woman forced to perform; they belonged to a woman enjoying what she was doing. And that flipped the last switch: It went from feeling damn amazing to _being_ damn amazing, and he went from doubting he was going to be able to get it up with that bastard watching to forgetting entirely he was there. Where they were, what the situation was...all of it was just gone. Another minute or two, and he lifted Tess back up onto the bed with him.

She'd done something with the sheet that involved a bunch of knots. When he got frustrated enough with the tangle to growl at it, she smiled again and untied it herself. Dean stole a look at Camera Jerk; he looked like he was about to eat his own face.

_I can think of one really good way for it to not look like I'm raping her: If I'm not._ As he pulled the sheet open around her, she settled back. There seemed to be all kinds of things happening in her eyes, but he didn't see fear any more, none at all. When he moved over her, her fingers found a place in the small of his back to dig into. And to pull him down to her.

He had no idea what was going on, but he wasn't going to convene a seminar on it right now. She was wet, arching to meet him, eyes locked with his. Okay, maybe she liked doing it for an audience. In which case Roman had a surprise in store when they got back to the hotel.

He'd just gotten used to the idea that she really liked it - and that he was enjoying the hell out of it, too - when she came hard enough that her cries sounded like pain as much as pleasure. He got another one out of her - because he liked the sounds she made and to _really_ piss off Camera Jerk - before wanting to get her away from here and it just feeling good won out.

It was a little late to be thinking about what he wasn't wearing, but it was the first thought he'd spared for it. She didn't seem to be worried at all; her fingers dug hard into him again as she pulled him as deep as he could get.

Dean pushed the voices howling for him to get up and get them the hell out of there down one last time. She'd understand the reasons for _Get up, let's go_ perfectly well, but she deserved better. Kinky, brave, or both, she deserved a lot better.

When he kissed her, she kissed him back eagerly, fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes, where it promptly fell right back, making her smile. He got up reluctantly. _Damn, if we were anywhere else, I'd love to see if I have another go in me._ "Where are her clothes?"

"Casualties of her being a lot more of a bitch for us than she was for you. She didn't like the idea of getting in the cage naked. You let me have a little of that, maybe I can find her something."

"No." Dean picked up his shirt and handed it to her. It would be enough to cover her if she was a little careful about her modesty.

"Couple hundred bucks in it for you, too."

"Nope. You got all you're getting from either of us. Fuck off."

He did, but he didn't look happy about it. _Now_ it was time. "Come on darlin', we're _all_ the way out of here."

He looked over to find Tess had made a skirt out of the sheet to go with the shirt. The whole effect was ridiculously cute. But she still didn't have any shoes.

_Fine, if I'm the hero or whatever, why not jump in all the way?_ He carried her to his car and laid down some dust getting the hell out of there.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean had about a thousand questions for Tess. He thought it was probably better to stick with the practical ones, at least while he was driving. "You can't just vanish for a year. Someone's going to be looking for you, or calling the police or something, right?"

"No. There's no one."

"That can't be. There has to be _someone_."

She shook her head. "I've been on the road for the past year. Couchsurfing mostly."

"That's how this happened?"

"Yeah. I trusted the wrong people. After a year with no problems at all, I made a stupid mistake."

"What?"

"I told someone I was staying with that I didn't have a destination, people waiting for me, all that."

"And they sold you to those assholes."

"Yeah. I don't think it was the first time they did that, either."

"Jesus. Think you could find their place again? I'd love to meet them."

"You know that would buy you trouble."

"Yeah, I know. It's fun to imagine, though. Why did you trust them? Sounds like that was your first slip, right?"

"It was. They convinced me they could help me with something."

"What?"

She shook her head. "Just...stuff. Personal stuff. Okay?"

"Yeah, that's all right. I'm not going to play head games about this, Tess. That's not fair. Neither of us asked for it."

She nodded and drifted off into her own little space for a while. He wanted her back out here with him. "Is Tess your real name, or a nickname?"

She looked mildly pained, which he supposed was his answer.

"Come on, what is it? It can't be _that_ bad, can it?"

"Sure it can. All right. My parents were science geeks. My honest-to-God, yes-they-really-did-it-to-me first name is Tesla."

"It's pretty. You should use it."

"I did, right up until people started remembering a certain '80s hair band."

He had to laugh; he couldn't help it. "And they won't be looking for you? Your parents, not the band."

"They would have. They're both gone. Car crash. That's when I took off down the road."

_Open mouth, insert foot, close mouth, chew._ "Shit, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm okay too, now. Pretty much."

She gave him a strange look when he pulled in at the hotel.

_Oops._ "I've got some explaining to do, too. Soon, promise. For now, I have a roommate, just so that's not a surprise. He's a good guy, so don't worry, all right?"

She nodded, but the look on her face said she was going to damn well worry if she felt like it.

Roman took it about the way Dean thought he would: A long look at their guest, followed by hauling him across the room. "Dean? Who's the girl, and why is she wearing your shirt and a bedsheet?"

"Long story, man. I want to get her something normal to wear. Come with me, I'll tell you the whole fucked-up thing."

He thought about it at the last second: He was starving, and he had no idea when she might have eaten last. "Call room service. Go wild. And don't answer the door for anyone else. You gonna be okay for a while?"

She nodded.

They ended up going for a beer that turned into three and a stream of bar food Dean ate most of. Explaining took a while.

"Jesus, Dean. That's the last time I ever let you go out alone. What are you going to do?"

"Get her some clothes."

"Man, I'm about to punch you in the nuts."

"I don't _know_ what I'm going to do. Just what I'm not. I'm not going to send her away, and I'm not going to...use her for what they put her up for. After that..." He shrugged.

"If she's gotta stay with us, that's cool with me. Will it be with her?"

"Once she figures out she didn't end up in Kinky Land, I think she'll be all right. She's pretty damn tough."

"And then some. Don't wait for her to figure it out. _Tell_ her. Get everything out on the table, and soon. And find out what the hell she thought people like that were going to help her with. If she's got a habit or something, you'd better know before she starts seeing bugs coming out of the walls."

He'd already thought about that. He didn't want to push her any more than she'd already been the past couple of days, but they weren't in a position for there to be a lot of secrets.

He went back with two dresses he hoped would at least fit her well enough so she could go out and get more clothes. Roman made himself scarce with a glare Dean had no trouble reading: _Take care of it. Now._

Half an hour of talking really came down to one thing: _I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do, but you have to be honest about what you want, or that's not going to work._ She seemed to accept that as truth coming from him; he'd wondered if she would.

She was a lot less happy with his insisting she tell him what she'd believed those people could possibly help her with. That didn't surprise him; what did was when he finally just flat-out ordered her to tell him. He expected more debate, and probably a state of high piss-off, too. Instead, she just caved. Something flickered through her eyes when she did that he would have sworn was pleasure, maybe desire even. _Wishful thinking. Don't be an asshole._

"They said they could help me find people who would..._get_ me. Things I need."

"_What_ things?"

He didn't think she was hesitating any more as much as finding words. He waited.

"Sex things. Do we have to do this, Dean? Please?"

"I think we'd better, considering. You...didn't react the way I expected this morning. _Any_ of the ways I expected. Does that have something to do with it?"

She nodded, staring at the floor.

"Go on. Look, if you have, ah...some quirks, they're really not likely to scare me, all right? Feathers or whole chickens."

"I like not being in control. In bed. Not anywhere else."

"So you're telling me you're a sexual submissive but not a lifestyle one."

Her head snapped up; her eyes were enormous.

"What, I can't know about that?" He did, well enough to have a good idea of what she'd been through that drove her to trust people she shouldn't have. "Most people don't know the difference, do they? Or that there even _is_ one. That does explain a few things. You really weren't faking it, were you?"

She looked utterly, genuinely surprised. "You couldn't tell?"

"I thought. But self-preservation is a hell of a motivator. It can make an actor out of anyone. And here I was thinking I had something to do with it."

"You did." She spoke so softly he almost didn't hear her.

"Yeah?"

"You didn't even want to. You did it to get me away from them. And..."

"And?"

"And I decided if I'd met you someplace, some normal way, I'd have let you if you wanted. So it didn't have to be what they wanted it to be, not if I didn't let it."

"And if I _do_ want to?" Holy hell, he did.

She nodded, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

"That's the truth? Like I told you to tell me? Look at me."

She looked up, squarely into his eyes, and nodded again. He really hoped Roman had found something hefty to do; a six-hour movie marathon would be good.

"Come here."

She did. There was no mistaking what was in her eyes now.

_Holy shit, I think the next year just got a LOT better._ "I think it's about time you gave me my shirt back."

She hadn't changed clothes yet. She peeled off the shirt and handed it to him. That made it easy to see her breathing was quickening.

"So you'd maybe have been okay no matter who won their fucked-up tournament?"

"_No_. It wouldn't have been my choice, not with any of them, right? They wouldn't have asked, or let me say no. They wouldn't have gotten it. Or cared if they did."

"And it is your choice with me?"

"Yes."

He lunged, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her down on the bed beside him. He felt as much as heard her gasp as she fell back. "Good. Now we can talk about _my_ choices."

She'd done some kind of crazy knotting thing with the sheet again. He grabbed two handfuls of it and yanked it down, sliding it off her legs and throwing it across the room. He stood and started peeling off his clothes. She watched avidly, that hungry look back in her eyes.

"Spread for me. Let me see you."

She did, her gaze never wavering from his. She might be shy about talking about it, but doing it apparently was just fine with her.

"You look like sin waiting to happen, you know that?" Part of it was that she _didn't_, even naked and spread for him like this. She somehow managed to look completely willing - completely submissive - but not seductive or even flirtatious. It made him a little crazy, but not enough that he wasn't going to be sure first. He cupped his hand between her thighs, barely touching her. She moaned softly, but didn't move other than a brief jolt when his fingers made contact with her. He could feel heat coming from her in waves.

He parted her with the tips of two fingers; she was very wet. He slipped both fingers into her to the first knuckle, stroking rather than thrusting, petting her. "You're gonna take me in here, baby. Deep, all the way. You want it?"

"Yes." It was barely a whisper.

"Nice for you. You're getting it whether you want it or not. _I_ want it, so you're just gonna be sweet for me and take it, aren't you?"

He landed on her hard, but carefully. Take her, hell yes; break a couple of ribs, no thanks. He grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands above her head. Her moan was a lot louder this time. She didn't just want it now; she needed it.

He smiled down at her. "Put it in. I've got other things to do with my hands."

She got the aim right, and he drove it home. He felt her ankles hook behind his knees, and then everything else washed away in a wave of hot, wet tightness caressing him. She felt amazing around him, and there was nothing else to distract him from it now.

He supposed if he were any kind of a good dom, he'd order her to put her legs back down and just lay there and take it. He was just going to have to be a bad one; he wanted response. And damn, she was giving it to him. And he was going to return the favor.

She didn't say much - a few scattered words, his name mostly - but she never really stopped making sounds: Little whimpers, moans, mewing noises, gasps. They didn't change much when she came, but he felt it. She didn't so much arch as snap up against him, and he felt like he was being clutched in a soft, slick fist. A second followed right on the heels of the first; he hung in for a third, but it took willpower, all he had.

"They don't know shit. _Now_ you're mine."

That earned him a fourth; he came into the pulsations, wondering if he was going to live through a year of this.


End file.
